*James*

The morning kicked off with a bang. That bang being Julia Moretti. I don't know what happened between yesterday and today, but I have a feeling my gut instincts were right about Julia and Nate hooking up. I have yet to ask her. Now is not the time.

Julia came out of her bedroom this morning in full-blown hysterics. The second Paul saw her, he headed back into the room where Nate was to confront him on why she was crying.

"Babe, what happened??" I ask, gingerly putting my hot cup of coffee down that Paul had helped me with. It looks like Julia had a rough night. She has dark circles under her eyes, telling me she either didn't sleep or had interrupted sleep due to one of her nightmares. They have yet to lessen in frequency.

"I'm just sick of this. I didn't ask for any of this! I try to be a good person, you know?" She begins pacing frantically while fidgeting with her hands. I quickly get up from my chair and walk over to her to console her. I wrap my arms around her and try to calm her down.

"You ARE a good person, sweetie. What happened?"

"I'm pathetic, that's what." She stands with her hands down at her sides, not reciprocating my embrace, clearly caught up in whatever happened in the other room.

"Julia, talk to me."

"The entire situation surrounding Mila Giovanni is overwhelming. The comments people post under her Instagram photos... how genuine Nate's smile always is when they pose for photos. He was so happy to be with her. I know I can't compare to that supermodel. And I know I'm not even in a relationship with Nate anymore, but why do people have to be so cruel? Reminding me of how I'm not gorgeous like her and how I'm an anchor or"

"Julia -" I lower my head more and hold her tighter. "You can't pay attention to that shit. People talk. Especially young fans who are obsessed with Hollan when they don't even know him or the mess he is. They only see what the media shows them. The media will show the worst of you and the best of Nate and Mila because they are celebrities. They bring in the money, they give these reporters something to talk about, pay the bills. That's all. And fans are just that- Fans. They don't know the real messy shit that happens behind closed doors. How Nate hurt you doing the things he did, how he started drinking because of Mila.  You can't let that shit get to you. It's fake. Fake comments on fake people they know nothing about."

Nothing I say is going to make Julia feel better about this situation. This is just another very clear reminder people like me and her don't belong in the celebrity world. Julia has never been media trained. She hasn't acquired the thick skin needed to take everything with a grain of salt. She's sensitive, and I don't want to lose that. It's part of who she is. It's what makes Julia so compassionate and giving and caring. But the outside world doesn't see that. They only see what the paparazzi fills their heads with. If they only knew the REAL Julia. The one who doesn't talk bad about anyone! Julia chooses to find the good in everyone, regardless of their actions. If they strip her of that quality and force her to become hardened, she will lose her authenticity and become like the rest of em.

This shit with Mila and Nate - it's the type of jealous shit that will break Julia down to pieces. She thinks very little of herself as it is. I wish I could open her eyes to realize what an amazing person she is. How big her heart is and how we could all learn a few lessons from Julia - a person who brings out the best in others, highlights the positive qualities in others -

 Even her monsters.

******

*Trisha*

"I have an idea, but you are not going to like it." Evan stops me when I walk past his bedroom and gaze over his buff chest. God, all the men around me put a lot of effort into their bodies. It's hard NOT to notice.

He's in a pair of black jeans hung low, barefoot and no shirt. I, on the other hand, just showered and in one of the white luxury robes Nate purchased for me on one of our many trips to his favorite London hotel, my hair wrapped up in a matching white towel.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I'm busy, I wave him off, but he steps out of the room.

"Miss Banks...." Evan steps into the hallway and pulls out his gun from the back holster behind, making me freeze. He raises his eyes at me and gently places it flat in his hand. 

"I want you to get used to looking at it. Without pissing your pants."

"Put that thing away, Scofield. I can't."  My eyes are glued to Evan's instead of down at the palm of his hand.

"I'm serious. I want you to be familiar with it. I want you to feel how heavy it is, where the safety lock is, where I store it on my person, as well as where I store it at night. Here.."

The bodyguard grabs my wrist, laying my palm out and gently places his firearm flat in my hand. My hand stiffens and begins to shake. He keeps one hand under mine and the other flat over the gun.

"Trisha, look down." Evan demands but in a caring way. He's trying to help me get over my fear, but all it's doing is bringing shit up.

I refrain from looking at the piece in my hand yet glare at Evan, then look up and down the hall. Jonah and Case are still sleeping.

"It's just you and me- Miss Banks. The safety is on. Look down so I can show you." He kept his hand under and over mine like a sandwich until my eyes dropped down. I knew my hands were shaking but didn't know how badly. Evan lifts his top hand but keeps his bottom one firmly under mine.

"This is what I use. It's the Sig Sauer P365 Fuse compact pistol. 9-millimeter Lugar caliber. Optic ready with a nickel plated flat faced trigger and automatic safety. See? It's solid but not too heavy.  24 ounces. It has all the benefits of a full-size pistol with the concealability of a compact. It holds 17 rounds."

"Get it out of my hand, Evan."  A tear falls right from my face onto his hand covering the firearm.

"This is where the bullets go." He's fucking ignoring me! "Right here, see?"

"Yeah, now take it."

"And see this?" He clicks it all back into place. "This is the safety. It's on." Evan takes the gun out of my hand, and I exhale. He raises his eyebrows at me, still needing my attention. 

"For the most part, this is where I keep it concealed in its holster on my body. 'Strong side' for right-handed shooting."

He puts the gun back in its holster on the right side of his body, tucked snug on his hip. If he had a t-shirt on, I most likely never would have noticed it aside from that one time I did. And even then, I didn't think it was a damn weapon!

"Carrying it on the same side of your body as your dominant hand benefits because it's easily accessible for a quick draw. No reaching across or around or behind my body."

"W-why are you telling me this, Evan?"

Again, the man ignores me. Instead, he takes my hand and brings me into his bedroom.

"This is where I keep it." Still holding my hand, he drags me across the bedroom to his dresser. He opens the drawer and lifts a bunch of OCD military style perfectly folded clothes. He pulls out a safe like metal box with a keypad. He takes the safe and sits us on his bed. Then Evan quickly presses in random numbers for a code and the metal box pops open.

Inside, not only is there the indentation for where his gun is stored, but there are three separate licenses and two passports. All with his picture. All with names not Evan Scofield. My eyes widen as I look at them and then a few medals tucked in next to them, all different colors.

"What the fuck is all this?!"

"For a short stint I was part of the secret service."

"FBI?!"

"Sort of." He says vaguely but lets me look and touch things. I take out the medals and again, my eyes are wide.

"I knew you were in the army but-" I hold up the award medals.

"They're nothing." He sighs. "Ok, well no. They are something. But not anything I'm gonna brag over. I've seen friends die. These medals mean something to me, and I'm honored, but they will never bring back my mates." He says showing a slight hint of emotion.

Evan has been though a lot in his life, for such a quiet, kept to himself, man.

"What does this one mean?" I hold one specific medal up.

"That one? Oh, that's the Legion of Merit Award- meritorious conduct in the field of military operations." He rattles off and sits on the bed with one leg up in a more comfortable manner though being shirtless is distracting me.

"And this one?" I hold up another.

"Ahh, that's the Bronze Star:  awarded to service, combat or non-combat, involving hazardous or combat. What combat ISN'T hazardous!" He scoffs.

"Ok.... this one?"

Evan nods and touches the medal with a deep inhale showing me memories are flooding back.

"That's the Army Distinguished Service Medal: Awarded for exceptional service that contributes significantly to national security or defense. That brings us back to the multiple passports and shit."

"And now your part of the Nate Hollan Circus? Why the downgrade?" I laugh obnoxiously as Evan puts it all away except for the gun on his body.

"Yeah, it's a circus all right. Paul hired me. I don't think I need to explain the ranking here. If Paul hires you, you take it. That man is qualified to be the president's bodyguard if he so chooses."

"Again, why are you guys with us?" I tease.

"I needed a change." That's all I get from Evan Scofield. He puts the box back in his dresser and pulls over a black t-shirt to tuck into his black jeans.

"You need a change too, Miss Banks. That's why you're not going to like the idea I have for today. Get dressed. I'm taking you to a shooting range."

I stare at him with my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "A shooting range? Why on earth would you think that I need to go to a shooting range?"

Evan smiles, a mix of mischief and sincerity in his eyes. "You'll see. Sometimes, the best way to conquer your fears is to challenge yourself."

My mind is racing through a list of possible objections, but I finally 'bite the bullet' (pun intended) and give a reluctant nod.

"Alright."

 I'm fucking agreeing to this?

***

As we drove to the shooting range, I became more nervous about this bright idea of Evan's. A good half hour outside of the bustling city, lay a secluded shooting range. It's a place where echoes of gunfire are drowned by the hum of city sounds. The building is huge. The inside, something you'd see on the set of Law and Order. Every detail exactly how I imagined it would be. The sight of the range, with its rows of targets and the occasional sound of gunfire, stirred a pit of anxiety in my gut. The place was packed. Packed and loud. 

Once registered, and escorted to our shooting aisle, Evan handed me a pair of protective glasses and earmuffs, explaining each step with patience and care.

"Remind me why we are doing this?" 

"I want you to know how to defend yourself, Trish. So the next time that asshole tries something, you can put him in his place."

I had a feeling sitting through my therapy session would stir something in Evan. The details of my abuse was a heavy load. Evan understood the reasoning for my fear thanks to Dave, but he wasn't going to let it slide.

"You first." I stall. 

Evan has no problem taking the lead. I watch him move into position like this is something he does on a daily basis. His stance was impeccable, his movements fluid and controlled. Each shot he took was a testament to his dedication, years of practice and skills. The targets stood no chance against his expertise. He the bullseye every single time.

When everything was reset and a clean paper target was dropped down, I knew it was my turn, and I had to step up to the plate.

"I will help you." Evan says while brushing past me in a flirty way. He has always been a bit of a mystery to me. His confident demeanor and playful attitude makes him intriguing. But also makes me think a bit of Nate with his cockiness. I can't help but smile and roll my eyes.

He guides me up to the shooting booth and hands me a sleek, black handgun. "Don't worry, I'll be right here with you," he assures me. 

Then, Evan stands behind me, his presence comforting yet electrifying. His hands gently hold my arms, positioning them correctly as I aim the gun at the target. I can feel his breath on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"Take a deep breath and focus," Evan whispers, his voice soothing yet flirtatious. Again- been hanging around Hollan too much.

 I follow his instructions, inhaling deeply and steadying my grip. With his guidance, I feel more confident, and the nervousness begins to fade away.

I'm holding a gun. Me, Trisha Banks. Ready to fire a weapon. Nate would have a heart attack if he knew what I was doing right now. I hold the gun in my shaky hands. Its weight felt surprisingly empowering. I take yet another a deep breath and focus on the red target, reminding me I need to pick up toothpaste at Target later.

"You ready?"

Nope...

"Yep." I lie, feeling Evan's body against mine, his arms against my arms and his breath on the side of my neck. Under his guidance, I aim at the target and can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I hold my breath and shut my eyes tight right before I pull the trigger. The shot echoes through the range, and the bullet hit close to the center of the target. Evan's arms remain around me, his touch lingering as he praises my shot. 

"Great job! You're a natural," he smirks. "Next time maybe keep your eyes open??"

I nod, ready to try again. We resume the same stance together and I force my eyes to stay open and stare at my target. I pull the trigger again.

A smile spreads across my face. "I did it!" I exclaim when I hit the target perfectly then turn to Evan with a newfound sense of pride and accomplishment.

He grins back, his expression full of approval. "I told you, Trisha. Sometimes, all you need is a little challenge to remind you of your own strength."

We spend the rest of the afternoon practicing. Evan's playful guidance and flirty demeanor made the experience unforgettable. By the end of the day, I had not only improved my shooting skills, and became more comfortable around the weapon, but also felt more of a connection with Evan. He had seen me cry, pour my heart out in that counseling session, and saw my fears. He didn't judge me, make me feel weak or put me down in any way. Instead, he did the opposite. He talked me through it, inspired me, and though I know it will take time, longer than one day at the ranch to overcome this, it was a step in the right direction.

  Evan didn't have to spend the day doing this for me. But the bodyguard dedicated the entire day making me more comfortable being around guns and taking the time to teach me and help me overcome my fears.

******

*James*

Julia has been off all day. Whatever this Mila stuff is, is really eating at her. Of course, it doesn't help that tour is approaching soon so all over the news is shit about newly single Mila and single Nate. It's on the TV in the rec room, at the nurses' station, on the community computer in the corner, everywhere. Julia can't escape.

As the morning fades and afternoon emerges, Julia begins to shut down more. First ignoring Nate, then Paul, then me- everyone. After lunch in the cafeteria, she headed back to the apartment and went straight to her bed.

"Well, I'm not getting through to her." Paul comes out of the bedroom, defeated. "She's shutting down."

My shoulders drop and I volunteer to go in to try and talk to Julia.

She's laying in her bed facing away and shutting out the world. I lay down next to her and drape my arm around her waist.

"Julia."

"What..." 

"You're supposed to say James." I frown. 

Julia remains silent. So far away right now. I close my eyes and pray over my best friend- which I do for quite a while. Julia as completely checked out.

Eventually, everyone enters the room. Everyone being Nate, Paul, Jeremy and Trevor. I move to sit on the chair by the window, but my dog stays with Julia.  Traitor.

Nate tells us how early in the morning Julia had woken him up, crying and all out of sorts after finding out Mila is single and something about some nasty comments posted about Julia. I'm not buying it. There's something more going on.  Something bigger than that. But Julia is not confiding in me so I can't help her.

"Well, she is definitely in a mental shutdown." Jeremy flashes the light across Julia's eyes, stands up, and looks at Dr. Tremont. Trevor observes what the rest of us see and writes in her chart.

"She was so happy yesterday, moving into this new apartment. I don't get it." I sulk in the chair. Paul's eyes are on Hollan. He thinks more is going on as well. Something more than a few stupid comments on Instagram.

"I've seen this happen with her before, everyone in this room aside from Dr. Tremont has. Talk us through it, Trevor, so I know you're on the same page." Jeremy nods at Trevor, signaling him to share his knowledge.

"When you mentally shut down you experience a range of symptoms including emotional numbness, a sense of detachment, inability to respond to stimuli or make decisions. It's a defense mechanism against overwhelming stress, trauma, or unresolved emotions, leading to withdrawal from interaction."

"She's isolating herself." Jeremy adds. "It has to be the meds or the news about Mila Giovanni. That triggered her once before."

Nate begins to pace. All eyes are on him, now.

"I haven't even done anything. I haven't seen Mila. I haven't talked to her. Nothing!"

"Maybe having Julia move in here with you wasn't a good idea after all." Paul states and walks out of the room.

"What the hell is gonna happen when I leave? There are going to be reporters. Pictures. Interviews. What the fuck am I supposed to do? This is out of my hands." A sharp pain must have hit Nate because he clenched his chest and winces.

"Nate, sit down." Jeremy demands and Nate sits next to me. "This is why Julia is here. For treatment. In order to help her emerge from her emotional shutdown we need to use a combination of therapeutic approaches. She needs to be in a safe and supportive environment. Which she is. That's step one. I'll treat her by encouraging somatic experiences and fostering connections. I'll utilize sensory input and breathing techniques to re-engage her nervous system, among other things."

"You're talking over my head, Donovan." Nate sneers.

"The goal is to gradually move her from a state of shutdown to a state of balance. But this means she's going to have to confront difficult emotions."

"I can't watch this happen to her again." I stand up and leave the room.  Paul is sitting outside, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees and hands clasped together. He looks to be deep in thought so I don't intrude. A few minutes later, Trevor joins me in the living room.

"Hey, I know it's hard to see your friend struggling like that, but you can't keep removing yourself from the situation."

I had a feeling he'd say that. I huff a little and cross my arms over my chest, leaning my head back on the couch.

"She used to be so happy. Well, when she was with me. Before all this. When I first met Julia while working the overnight shifts at the Marriott, she would visit me every single night she was there. God, we would spend hours talking and laughing together. We'd go to the park together, lay on the grass and spend hours there, sometimes we would lay silently, not needing to speak at all. Just having each other's company was enough."

"You're running away instead of dealing with it head on, James." He pats my shoulder and sits next to me. I sigh in frustration, ignoring him, and continue rambling with my thoughts.

"She got involved with Nate early on and I swear she'd come back every night...or sometimes mornings, and you could tell she had been crying. I know what you're thinking- and at first, I thought that too. Because there WERE days when Julia was crying because of some dumb thing Nate did or because of some blow out the two of them had, but," I pause. "It's a funny thing, realizing you're not the person someone depends on the most. It feels like I've fallen short of being the kind of support she needs. Nate was....is.... and always will be the person she turns to when everything comes crashing down. Not me."

Trevor listens to me intently, with a slight nod to let me know I have his full attention to keep talking.

"Yeah, sure, Julia would tell me everything. But every time, without fail, she'd circle back to Nate. She'd unload her feelings, and then, like clockwork, she'd go back to the very person who, most of the time, had caused them. It used to frustrate me to no end. I couldn't understand why she would keep going back to him, why she believed he was the one who could make things right. I'm no longer fighting for that role, Trevor. There is no comparison between Nate and myself. She holds affection for both of us, but in different ways. He will always be the one she turns to, the one who can reach her and help her. No one else understands Julia as well as Nate does. So why bother putting myself through that stress when I know I will fail at getting through to her?"

"I hear what you're saying, and it's great that Julia has the best of both worlds, James. She has you as her confidant, her sounding board, and Nate to help her fix her problems. It's a rare balance, one that allows her to feel supported, knowing she has both emotional and practical guidance when she needs it most. You're the listener. Nate is the fixer. But Nate will be leaving soon, and Julia is going to need both the listener AND the fixer. I want you to feel confident on being that person for her. It will only help you in the long run if you are going to continue to live under the same roof, which, you've voiced once or twice in our conversations."

"I'm not sure I can be who she needs me to be. While I'm willing to be her best friend and someone she can confide in, Julia's mental health challenges are beyond me, Trevor. Her loss of control during episodes can be hard to handle, and I don't think I'll ever feel prepared or equipped to manage those situations. The responsibility and burden of supporting her is overwhelming, and Nate has always been better at all of that. It may sound like I'm avoiding responsibility, maybe I am. But I really think it's better if I stay the best friend and someone else with the necessary skills steps in to manage her. I know my limits." I explain.

To be honest, I don't want the responsibility, the burden, of being the one to fix Julia when she spirals out. Not that I could fill Nate's shoes anyway but it's too difficult a task. One that I will fail at miserably.

Is that awful to think?  Probably. Is it taking the easy way out? Am I being selfish? Most definitely. Is it worth it to let someone else deal with the hard shit when it comes to Julia's mental illness? One hundred percent.

Everyone has their limits.

*****